


Naked, Spotless

by bold_seer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, M/M, Repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-22 04:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19659922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: “Oh, but what doesStephenthink?”





	Naked, Spotless

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: https://ironstrangeprompts.tumblr.com/post/177740703462/stephenstrangeisaho-ironstrange-prompt-stephen
> 
> Vague canon divergence after/around _Civil War_ and _Doctor Strange_. The exact time is not important.

_And dreams hang in the air_

They’re talking about something, which means Tony is doing the talking, ninety-ten. He could be talking to anyone, but it’s Strange. Standing a little too close, familiar in Tony’s workshop, in his personal space. But Tony isn’t that careful about other people’s boundaries, what’s appropriate. He _likes_ the inappropriate. It’s not creepy close. More like a pose that assumes they know each other better than they do. The beginning of a beautiful friendship?

Tony has great posture. He can be casual. Strange gives the impression of a man who doesn’t let himself go. Ever. A watch wound too tight. This lazy, leisurely version is an improvement, but there’s also something about him. Not alarming. Unusual. Strange is unlikely to give a straight answer. He rarely says exactly what he means. Or he says _exactly_ what he means. No tact. No art - matter. Only art, no matter? The opposite of Tony.

“Busy man.” Strange’s gaze trails Tony’s arms, and he adds, in that significant tone, “Busy hands.” Then he moves, and this, _this_ is close. Even in Tony’s book. His heart drums in his chest. This is also Tony’s home ground. Magic is as magic does. Strange can be a bit of an ass, but nothing about him screams threat. He’s never shown any desire to do Tony, or anyone else, harm. Powers or not, he has his own weaknesses. Some of them are obvious. Tony could hurt Strange, too.

The devil selling an idea, offering a freebie, though he lacks his signature red cape, Strange urges, “Why don’t you put your busy hands to busy use?”

Uh-huh. Tony is good at catching people off guard. This wasn’t on his radar. Strange, not the goody two shoes Tony took him for. Willing to experiment. Engage in improvised recreational activities. Kinky, tentacled alien sex? Rude to ask. What happens in another dimension stays there. More Grey’s than Gray’s Anatomy, General Hospital over Metro-General. The doctor knows what the doctor wants. If it sounds like the lead-up to porn? Tony is game. He likes being surprised. Few people manage it.

Took Strange a while to warm up. He’s grasping Tony’s wrists. No clinical touch. Nor warm, at all. “The hell. Which ghost did you have a run-in with? Your hands are _freezing_.”

“Professional hazard,” Strange answers deliberately. Eyes cast down, rough fingers light against Tony’s palms. It shouldn’t be arousing. It really is. “Though they were cold before.”

Before he injured them, Tony assumes. He means to pry, but Strange makes it hard - _difficult_ to think about anything else. Strange looks up. “Touch me,” he demands. “Anywhere.” Voice vibrating with need, as if he’s waited for this a long time. What Tony can give him. Worked up to this moment. “I can take it.” No doubt.

Two guys, good at everything they do. Including this? Strange seems up for it, responding to Tony. His touch. It feels, it _feels_. Strange, master of restraint, surrenders in Tony’s hands.

It’s a good look on him.

(Poor little sorcerer.)

**

_You know it feels unfair_

Strange is on his knees. Rhodey walks in. That’s the equation. Do the math. The two parts of Tony’s life that weren’t supposed to collide, not like _this_. They haven’t really gotten it on, which is both disappointing and a relief. It’s far from the most embarrassing situation Tony’s found himself in, but he isn’t sure his heart could’ve taken Rhodey interrupting them - however many minutes later. In the act.

Pretty obvious what’s going on, though. Don’t even have to be a brain surgeon. Strange isn’t admiring the cut of Tony’s pants. He isn’t that kind of a doctor. Tony’s hands are on Strange’s shoulders, digging into the blue fabric, possessive and grounding. His fly is half-open. If Strange’s hands weren’t permanently injured, he probably would’ve worked faster. As mean as the thought is, Tony can’t help but feel a little relieved. He has some shame left. Just not enough.

Without a word, Strange gets up from the floor. Rhodey hasn’t moved, watching them both, trying to work out whether someone is playing a practical joke on him. Tony doesn’t know who should feel the most embarrassed. He’s used to awkward confrontations. Rhodey is used to Tony. Despite initiating sex in a semi-public space - they could’ve used magic for the thrill without the danger, Tony suspects - Strange has this image that he presents to the world. It doesn’t include this service. But Strange can zap himself home, before Tony has time to do much else than zip up.

Tony isn’t _terrible_ at dealing with consequences. Except sometimes he is. He does the most cowardly thing, bolting out of the room with a _take five._

Maybe they assume he has urgent business to take care of. Nope. Tony needs to clear his head. Get a glass of water. Cool, refreshing. He meets no one on the way, and thanks his luck. The rush of emotions. This wasn’t how he planned to break the news. It could be worse. Could’ve been someone else than Rhodey. Could’ve been in public. They could print the story, with Stephen’s name attached. This is awkward, sure. Not that bad.

When he gets back, he sort of supposes Strange won’t be there anymore. That Rhodey might’ve disappeared, as well. Instead, he’s greeted with the aftermath of something. Bad vibes. Not hostile. Rhodey looks tense. Strange, impassive as ever. The situation?

Moving his unknowable gaze from Rhodey to Tony, Strange steps towards him, brushing lightly against his body. “Come find me later,” he says, voice low, for Tony’s ears only. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Draws back, index finger pressed to his lips, slightly open, gracefully stepping into the portal that forms around him. Tony can only blink at the smooth seduction. He’s gone.

Which leaves Tony to deal with - the talk. Be careful. Lock the door. Use protection. No risk of Tony knocking anyone up, he _hopes_ , which doesn’t grant them immunity from any other consequences. If someone should know better, it’s the doctor. Not the playboy Avenger, or whatever part Tony plays this week. This year.

Giving off an air of silent judgment, Rhodey’s expression is tight. Annoyed, past feeling awkward, Tony comments, “Telepathy, this mind meld thing? I don’t do that magic. To save you the energy.”

Gets him nothing. Seriously, Rhodey. Didn’t glimpse anything worse than in a PG-13 movie. Kind of disappointing. He’s seen a lot of bad behaviour. A lot more of Tony, than this implied. Seen Tony do worse. Literally, figuratively. Rhodey appears uneasy, affected by something. Army attitudes or what. Eventually, he asks, “Doesn’t it weird you out?”

People willing to give blowjobs? Tony is happy with them. He belongs to that category.

The best defence, a distraction. Offence is the actual best defence. “This is who you object to?” Not the women old enough to drink, but not much older than that. He didn’t chase after them, but he didn’t chase them away either. Since when is a wizard doctor a bad pick?

Rhodey’s attitude becomes more sympathetic. “This isn’t an intervention. That was awkward. Could’ve been a hell of a lot more awkward.”

They’re in agreement. It’s one thing to catch someone, clothes on. Another thing to lock eyes with your best friend, while he’s coming down your mutual colleague’s throat. Tends to leave an unfortunate impression.

“It’s not the -” Rhodey makes a vague, frustrated gesture. Activity, two guys, specific guy. “I don’t mind Strange. That he’s a _he_. Don’t know him that well.”  


Tony knows Strange well enough. He frowns at the undertone. “This is the dump him, he’s bad news speech. Never been on this side before.” Someone should give Strange this speech. Some sorcerer. “Okay, I’ll play. He could do worse than me.” Than PTSD and nightmares and missiles and one of the biggest egos on the planet. “I could do worse than a neurosurgeon.”

“ _Former_ neurosurgeon.” Rhodey puts unnecessary emphasis on the first word, as though it makes a difference. He sounds like a jerk. Strange wasn’t fired for being incompetent. Fired at all. The reason they know _Doctor_ Strange used to operate in the city is because Tony is nosy. Strange isn’t the sharing and caring type.

“Sure, no career. Ran out of money, a while ago. No need for a pre-nup.” Tony isn’t going to buy Strange a shiny rock. A Lamborghini. Strange wouldn’t accept it. He definitely couldn’t drive it. They aren’t a couple. It’s - sex. Tony likes sex, vigorous and varied. Creative ways of getting off. Doesn’t have to be about true love. It’s just that he might want something in addition. He flashes a PR grin. “It’s not that serious.”

Rhodey regards him, pointedly.

“Whatever you’re thinking, he wouldn’t.” It would get clicks. Everything Tony does gets clicks. Tony and Strange are also an irresistible combination of arrogance, looks and dramatic potential. Strange is far more protective of his self than Tony, however.

There’s something insistent about Rhodey. “That’s the thing. I don’t know your guy, but I’ve met him. Introduces himself as Doctor Strange. Calls me Colonel. Twice.” Strange defaults to diplomacy. What’s Tony supposed to be getting from that? “Polite. Formal. Bit awkward. Makes a joke to ease the tension.” Rhodey hesitates. “Professional.”

He remembers Strange approaching him. Needing it. Tony.

“I buy that he’s into you,” Rhodey concedes. There’s an incoming _except that_.

Tony’s gives a wry smile. “Something is weird.” Wait for it. “Strange?”

“He’s a wizard. Suddenly, he’s acting like he can’t get enough, uh.” Rhodey shakes his head. “No one’s that desperate.”

Plenty of people are. “He does magic tricks. I’ve got the parts.” Tony makes a motion: fingers, dick.

Rhodey grimaces. “Maybe you should think about why he’s so eager. What’s in it for him?”

Aside from the obvious. “You don’t like the guy because you think he’s a gold digger? Because he’s easy?” Strange isn’t the former. The latter, how are _they_ friends?

“If you’re good with it.” Rhodey is dubious, wants to ask about something. Tony doesn’t need to hear it. He’d laugh everything off. There’s a kernel of truth in the misplaced concern. Guarded to begin with, Strange is open about some things, but instead of truly opening up, mind _and_ body, he’s become more guarded about parts of himself.

Not everyone’s as glib as Tony. He assumed friends with benefits. Was benefits without friendship that different? If Strange prefers doing something with his mouth over heart-to-hearts? That’s fine by him.

Just fine.

(Poor little mechanic.)

**

_There’s magic everywhere_

“You -” The mood drops like the temperature in January. Wanda Maximoff, bathing in that unnatural glow. Her hands, to her fingertips and dark nails. Ready to blast Stephen Strange to kingdom come.

She’s never been the most stable person in the room. Her magic is erratic and unpredictable. But she hangs out with Vision. Nat and Steve. Clint, when he’s around. Everyone expect Tony. And Strange, who never strays far from him at the Compound. For one guilty, self-involved second, Tony wonders if this is it. Delayed punishment. Revenge for her brother and family and country. That’s him being cynical about human nature.

Wanda has met Strange, who isn’t an official Avenger. Not a joiner. That went fine, they even talked magic. Following their conversation was about as enlightening as a listening to a language you half-knew, words with form but no meaning. Mystified, Tony wandered off. Now Wanda is glaring at Strange like he’s the most monstrous thing she’s seen in a long time. A thing, not a person. That deserves to be destroyed. Strange never harmed anyone with his magic. Not like Tony’s weapons. Why would she? He’s frozen, something keeping him in place.

With sharp, efficient soldier’s instincts, Sam diffuses the situation. Nat and Steve trade obvious glances. Only Strange, in the spotlight, out of it, apart from the crowd, seems his placid self. Nothing could ruffle his feathers. Two fingers in the air, not shaking visibly. Finally, Tony senses it. Unlike Strange, his usual magic, powerful but _good_. This isn’t the wizard you’re looking for. Something is very, very wrong. Tony needs to confront -

Next he knows, Wanda says, softly, “I should go.”

“Probably,” Tony mutters, but there’s something off about the whole thing. The unprovoked outburst. Strange’s cool detachment.

The problem isn’t Wanda.

(Clever little witch.)

**

_They seem to hate you because you’re there_

Loki’s lips form a smile, a sneer. Never a good sign. Tony remembers pouring himself a drink. Not his rambling speech. He wonders why he volunteered. Dealing with the guy, the _god_ , who coped with sibling rivalry and an inferiority complex by attempting to conquer Earth. Compensating for something. Tony understands ambition. Who doesn’t have daddy issues? He’s never felt inadequate, measured against a specific person. Maybe against the ghost of Steve.

There are precautions, and those precautions have precautions. Loki still makes him feel nervous, on edge. He has no reason to show satisfaction, even that mocking mimicry. Pleasure in dissatisfaction, and dissatisfied with pleasure, others’ and his own. Torn between sadism and masochism. Tony’s eyes flicker to the corner. Stephen, his attentive presence. There, as always.

“The company you keep.” Loki’s tone is contemptuous. “Under lock and key. Kept man?”

What the hell is that supposed to be, riddle inside an insult? He throws Loki a glare. “Watch it, Rudolph. He’s backup.”

...

(The demon is idle. Stephen’s thoughts glide through the silent sea, away from the setting. From Tony.

He thinks of Natasha Romanoff, the secrets she keeps inside herself. Of Steve Rogers, waiting in ice, decades before the rescue. Of Wanda Maximoff, who lost her family, too. Her powers frighten strangers, allies, sometimes herself. He’s not a teacher, lacks the patience, but perhaps, if, _when_ , he should try to help her. He remembers his own work. Accepting a hug, begrudgingly, because he was arrogant - not cruel. Christine may have disagreed.

He picks his own soundtrack, a 1970s playlist on shuffle. His impeccable memory and a certain gift for music allow him to recreate layers of sound in his mind. Bohemian Rhapsody, something of a confession. The appealing fatalism of Blue Öyster Cult. Aerosmith, following the dreamy guitars.

He imagines blowing bubbles under water.

Then something grabs hold of his mind. The _pain_.)

...

“Oh, but what does _Stephen_ think?” Loki’s face turns gleeful. He’s stumbled on a juicy piece of information. He leans over the table, as far as he can, in a theatrical show of intimacy. Proof he has a secret, one he’s dying to both share and keep. He holds eye contact, builds anticipation. This guy belongs on a stage. Nothing subtle about it, gesturing wildly towards Chekov’s gun.

At last, it fires. “Have you asked him?”

(Clever little trickster.)  


**  


_It’s a wonderful wonderful life_

Nauseous with guilt, he says the word. “That’s exactly what it is.”  


“No.” Calm and quiet on the surface, Stephen avoids even glancing in Tony’s direction. There’s a hell of a lot of irony in that _no_. “I wanted you.”  


Tony lets out a laugh. The most inappropriate, insensitive reaction ever. “You wanted it. Which is why you never said anything before the demon got - objection. Forced you to sleep with me.” Tony, along for the Six Flags ride. So was Stephen, for the opposite reason. He wants to smash something. That destructive, restless energy. Deconstruct, reconstruct, break and rebuild, everything he’s ever done. A compulsive cycle. Bruce and the Hulk.

“You aren’t shy.” Then it hangs between them, the ugly implication. He _wasn’t_ shy.  


“Tony,” Stephen protests, with genuine hurt.  


“Forget it. I’m an asshole.” Tony doesn’t need a demon to fuck up. He definitely doesn’t need a demon to make a mess of other people’s lives. He’s excellent at that, taking things apart. Stripping them to the bone. Leaving casualties. Making enemies. “But is that seriously what we’re going with? _He kind of, sort of, maybe wanted to_ , and that makes it okay. Because you didn’t want it like that, right then.” Rhodey sensed trouble. Tony, the narcissist. The hedonist. Focused on having a good time, on getting off. Even if he didn’t notice, he should’ve _known_. “Textbook definition.”

“Stop,” Stephen cuts him off. For the first time, he sounds angry. Not tired and used and ashamed. Tony wants to say something, do something, fix this, but Stephen overrules him. “Let me speak.” It’s not a request. “You’re not responsible for anything that happened to me.” In his persuasive, oddly gentle tone, he states, “There’s nothing you should blame yourself for.”

No court would convict him. Guilt isn’t like that. Whatever Stephen wanted, before the demon toyed with his body, Tony slept with someone who never had a say-so. Not once, but repeatedly.

The persistence fades. Stephen’s goodbye is devastatingly final. “I should leave.”

“Wait,” Tony tells him, almost grabbing Stephen’s arm in panic. It’s not like he can make Stephen stay. Not like he should. Tony doesn’t know if he deserves good things. If this is good for Stephen. If Tony is. It’s slipping through his fingers, and, “I like you. When you’re actually _you_.” The person Tony has come to know, what he likes, he’s there. A mystery.

“You were deceived.” Stephen can be cold, but that coldness is turned against himself. Only against others when he’s not letting anyone in. “I knew what was happening. The entire time.” Before Tony has the opportunity to make sense of anything, Stephen concludes, “If you don’t trust me, I understand.”

Tony isn’t in the habit of trusting anyone. That’s probably the wrong thing to say. He sighs in frustration. “You don’t need anyone else throwing you under a bus. Too happy doing it yourself.”  


It hits him. Tony is brilliant, but he’s also a complete idiot. They’re in a complex built with his money. Accommodating his team. In his workspace, where everything started. It’s a place where Tony feels comfortable. At home. If Stephen doesn’t, he’ll never admit it.

“Portal us?” Tony hates portals, the unpredictable energy. It’s not like he thinks he needs to suffer, to balance the scales. They have to get away. Find some neutral ground. Somewhere they haven’t - somewhere else. “Just. Please.”

The conflict is visible on Stephen’s face. Fighting the urge to run, to hide. Slowly, he nods.

Maybe it’s the _please_.

...  


The garden is quiet, green and lush. There’s a pool of water, reflecting their surroundings, the hedges and trees. A breeze, barely perceptible. Everything else is still.

“What do you want from me, Tony?” Stephen reveals a tinge of bitterness. He stands some feet away, near the edge of the pool. Any closer, and he would fall in. They’re in a place that offers solace. With enough water to drown in.

He thinks of Stephen against the glass. Tony moving against him. Of Stephen washing his hands, letting drops run down to his elbows. How he scraped his knees in the shower, and Stephen bruised his.

He thinks he wants Stephen to acknowledge that he feels violated in some way. It’s also wrong, using his own guilt and painting it on someone else. Scrubbing through watercolour paper. There’s no undo, backspace. “Anything you want.” He breathes out. Breathes in the fresh air. “More input than before.”  


Stephen doesn’t answer, facing the mirror trees and his image. He wanted Tony. Now he’s torn and unhappy. As though he doubts it’s a good idea.

“All of my -” Tony considers. “People.” He isn’t sure what he means, but continues. “They wouldn’t care.” Of all the things Tony could do, dating a colleague, who’s a guy, who’s a sorcerer, is low on the list of shocking.  


Would Stephen’s fellow wizards disapprove? Of him dating. A relationship with a man. Tony. He doesn’t even know if Stephen’s out to anyone. 

“I remember.” Stephen is staring hard at the water. “Colonel Rhodes walking in on us. That time. When I tried to.” His floundering would be funny in any other context. He’s rarely so completely out of his comfort zone. Aren’t doctors supposed to be less uptight? Even neurosurgeons. It’s sex. That simple, complex game.

“Blow me?” Stephen struggles to stay unaffected. “Not the worst thing he’s seen. Guaranteed.” No one’s bits were on display. A light goes on. “Rhodey warned me, you know.”  


Warily, Stephen turns his head towards Tony. He knows where the thread leads. Nowhere good. “Yes. He would. I came on to him.” Suddenly, he looks Tony straight in the eye. “Offered, to also.” His blunt, characteristic evasiveness. It gets the point across.  


Tony’s is caught in a dark vortex. How many people did Stephen proposition? How many of them did he want to sleep with? How many did he - which is stupid, nothing to be jealous about, and hypocritical, because Tony. Not something you say to a - to a victim.  


“He’s your friend. I didn’t want that.” Stephen sighs, unhappily. “It was testing my limits. Misinterpreting my thoughts. I was willing to sleep with you. Not in those circumstances, no. You’re right. And you were willing.” He takes on a concerned note. “You _were_ willing? I should’ve sensed it, the only time -”  


“Always up for it,” says Tony flippantly. With handsome wizards.  


Stephen sighs again. He repeats, “I was willing.” More for himself than Tony. “I wasn’t - in control. I tried, everything I could think of. It didn’t quite process things the way you would expect.” He appears deflated. “I’ll have to ask Wong. It avoided him, as much as it could. At least I never.” One person off the list Tony didn’t know he was making. “Or the Cloak of Levitation.” He laughs. A short, dry sound. “That would’ve been awkward.”

Oh. Right.

“I could deal with it, but the knowledge that everything could’ve gone so wrong. It could’ve done absolutely anything, to anyone. I would’ve been responsible.” He isn’t speaking to Tony anymore. Berating himself. “Because I was reckless enough to pick something up.”

“Stephen. Look at me?” Tony wants to touch him. “No one blames you.”

“They pity me,” Stephen answers in a strained voice. The worst thing a man can face. Pity.  


“You’re embarrassed,” Tony tries. “I’m embarrassed.” _I thought you liked it._

Stephen scoffs. “It’s mortifying.” Tony doesn’t know what to make of that. If Stephen’s bothered by people knowing, or that specific instance, what he did, what he said. He can think of half a dozen scenes when Rhodey, or anyone else, could’ve walked in. Times that would’ve been significantly more humiliating for Stephen than the image of him kneeling, fully dressed, in front of Tony, mostly dressed. He wonders what Stephen said to Rhodey. A direct offer, or heavy hints. He wonders how disrespectful it would be to ask.  


“It’s an act,” Stephen amends. Not entirely convincing, or convinced. He does believe that, to some extent, but something makes him self-conscious. Drifting too far from his desires? Too close to them. “I’m not ashamed of what we did.”

 _Please talk to me._ Which is rich, coming from Tony.  


“The things that we. I’ve thought about them. All of them.” This is it, the naked admission. Stephen, vocalising his wants and needs. “How can I? When I had no control.” He trembles. “No choice. As if someone -”

Guilt, constricting Tony’s lungs. What he asked for, isn’t it? Stephen’s eyes find his. “Not _you_. I’ve wanted you, since I.” He smiles, sadly, in pained sympathy. “We’re victims. Of the circumstances.” He lowers his gaze.

Quick to assure Tony. Blame himself. “It doesn’t say anything about you.” If Stephen enjoyed it, or wants to do it again. Any of it, submission or losing control. “You get that, right?”

Stephen looks stubbornly past him.  


Tony takes a careful step. “What do they teach doctors, anyway? Bone structure and Latin.”  


“Physician, heal thyself.” Stephen breathes out. “I’m not a psychiatrist. Or a psychologist. And I’ve never met one who specialised in the supernatural.” He shakes his head. “This is far from the first time I’ve made a fool of myself. I should be grateful. That I didn’t harm you, or anyone else. The damage I could’ve caused.”  


While speaking, Stephen twists his fingers in ways that are increasingly uncomfortable. Painful. Tony doesn’t like seeing people in distress. He doesn’t interfere this time. Figures, maybe Stephen needs it. To feel in absolute control.

“You didn’t,” Tony says instead. “Nothing happened.” Except them. They happened.  


But Stephen asks, “Why am I worried about my reputation?” The question is bitter and rhetorical. “I don’t know if something in me stopped it from doing worse. If it wanted to.” No matter how arrogant Stephen appears, he is his own worst judge and critic. Unlike Tony, his most public mistake is the one that brought him here. “Or it thought this would be the worst thing for me.” He holds up his shaking hands. “What does it tell you, Tony? The kind of man that is.”  


Whose priority isn’t other lives, but his own ego.

As if Tony should judge anyone, after Ultron.

He’s looking at a good man, who looks like he could cry. This isn’t what he usually does. Tony trusts his instincts and pulls Stephen in. They’ve passed this line ages ago. He’s seen Stephen naked. He knows the weight and feel and taste of him. The lines, scars, marks on his body. He knows what Stephen feels like on the _inside_. There’s not a whole lot left. And still, it’s something delicate and new.

Gradually, the tension in Stephen’s body eases. Tony holds on, longer than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Quoting: Black - Wonderful Life
> 
> contains: possession and dubious consent/no consent, accidental voyeurism


End file.
